"Haa…" She exhaled shakily, but her body refused to move. Frozen in place, she could only shift her eyes, glancing around in silent panic.
There was nothing. No one. Just endless ice stretching in every direction, quiet and suffocating, like sinking into the deepest part of the sea.
Then—movement.
Her eyes widened as a figure emerged from the blue void, swimming toward her with unnatural grace. He had a strong, well-built upper body, the kind you'd expect from a warrior, with golden scales glinting across his shoulders. Long dark hair floated around him, streaked with a glowing shade of blue that shimmered with every ripple in the water. A brilliant, glowing tail replaced his legs—covered in smooth sapphire scales and edged with sharp fins that looked like they could cut through bone. Pearls and chains hung from his neck and waist, swaying with his movements, regal yet strange.
A monster...?
Her pupils contracted in fear, but something in her chest twisted—not from terror alone. Why does he look so beautiful?
He drifted closer. Too close. His hand reached out, slow and deliberate, and cupped her cheeks with a gentle touch that didn't match the danger in his eyes.
He leaned in.
His emerald eyes locked with hers, the blue gradient in them shifting like waves brushing over sand. At first it was mesmerizing, but then… the pattern began to form something. Familiar. Sharp.
A scythe?
It flickered in his gaze, not fully visible, but clear enough to make her stomach drop.
And then he smiled.
Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just… calmly, as if this was routine. As if her fear didn't matter.
He pulled his hands away—and with them, a thin trail of blood unraveled in the water.
Yona froze.
There were no cuts. No wounds. But pain bloomed across her throat, sharp and spreading. It wasn't on her skin—it was inside her, twisting deep beneath the surface.
The blood floated upward, dancing around the merman's fingers as he moved, controlling it effortlessly. He watched her with that same soft smile, tilting his head, amused by the silent agony he'd caused.
Her vision blurred as pain surged again, dragging her eyes back. Her breath hitched.
It hurts... I need to breathe...
Everything went dark.
For a moment, there was nothing but blackness. But then—something appeared. A shape in the dark. And then more. Dozens, maybe hundreds. A shattered world made of fragments drifting like glass.
And within those fragments—bodies. So many.
She recognized them instantly.
Puppets.
The ones her mother used to make—twisted corpses locked in frozen struggle, their faces stuck in fear, hands raised in vain attempts to fight. They were from that day. The day of the attack. When she was still a child. When the Apostles came.
But others were different. These weren't her mother's.
They were Zareth's.
Yona's hands clenched at her sides. His puppets were worse—torn apart, contorted like broken toys, their limbs bent at unnatural angles. And their faces… they weren't afraid.
They were empty. Not because they had no hope—but because they once did. And it had died in them completely.
They never expected anyone to save them.
And they were right.
Zareth deserved it.
That was all she could think.
Kaia's voice echoed faintly in the back of her mind.
***
"He loved you," Yona said quietly, her fingers brushing against the window as she stared down at the glowing city lights below.
"That wasn't love," Kaia replied without hesitation. Her voice was colder than usual—calculated, empty.
Yona took a deep breath, still avoiding her gaze. "Were you?"
"You don't know what I saw." Kaia cut in, her expression darkening. "That place..."
She paused, her jaw tight. "Don't you hate him? After what they did to you? After what he did when you left? To those innocent girls?"
"But killing him won't—"
"Yona." Kaia's voice snapped like a whip, loud enough to make her flinch.
"There were corpses," she said, each word like stone. "Hanging like decorations. Girls. Dozens of them."
Her fists clenched. "My powers activated back then. When I touched them... I saw it all. Their memories. From the moment they lived until they were turned into puppets."
She looked away, her voice lower, bitter. "It was hell."
That was the last conversation we had.
***
Yona stood alone in the shadows, a bitter laugh slipping from her lips. She looked down at herself—disheveled, trembling—and laughed harder, almost mocking her own pathetic state.
"A hero, huh?" she muttered, a crooked grin twisting her face. "'Killing isn't an option'—seriously, what kind of nonsense was I spouting?"
Her steps slowed. The grin faded.
"She saw their memories?" The words barely left her mouth, too heavy to say aloud. Her fists tightened at her sides, nails digging into her palms. "It must have been hell for her..."
"I should have been there," she whispered, voice cracking.
Frustration surged. She kicked the empty ground with a sharp thud, the echo swallowed by the darkness. Her mind raced.Someone was showing her all this—but who? And why?